Back to work

September 28, 2010 at 10:44 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mourning, silver lining | 7 Comments

In late September of 2005 my maternity leave came to an end.  As I mentioned here and there, maternity leave without a baby at home is no picnic.   Turns out, going back to work had challenges as well. 

When I went into labor with Jake I was working as a consultant.  When I went back to work not everyone knew what happened.  Acquaintances who passed me in the halls saw me 26 weeks pregnant in August.   At the end of September I was back at work.   A very natural question upon seeing me for the first time would be “how is the baby?”.  I had thought of this and had been rehearsing my responses in my head.

As much as I knew the questions would be asked and as much as I had rehearsed my responses, I was not prepared.   “Did you have a boy or a girl?”   The pit in my stomach grew and tears welled up in my eyes but I spoke.   “We had a boy – his name was Jake.  He passed away when he was 2 weeks old.”   Then, I ran to the bathroom, went into a stall and cried.  

There is only one thing worse than speaking ill of the dead –

and that is not speaking of the dead at all.

                              — Anonymous

I had decided that I would always speak about Jake.   It might be hard for the person asking the question but I needed (and need) to talk about him.   Now, I need to speak about Jake and Sawyer.

So, in late winter of this year I was jogging.  I saw in the distance a neighbor who I had not seen since Sawyer was born and died.   I thought of turning around and going down another street but decided to take my chances.   I smiled, said hello and tried to speed up.   Behind me I heard her ask, “How is the baby?  Are you getting any sleep with the three kids?”.   I knew I had no choice but to stop and answer her.   I spoke – I am not even sure what I said but I know that I answered.  

The mention of my child’s name may bring tears to my eyes,

But it never fails to bring music to my ears.

If you are really my friend, let me hear the beautiful music of his name.

It soothes my broken heart and sings to my soul.  

                                            – – – Author Unknown

Jake’s Funeral

September 14, 2010 at 9:24 pm | Posted in Death, funeral | 16 Comments

The morning of Jake’s funeral arrived.   It still did not seem real to me.  I just moved through the motions.   Some one told me to get dressed.   I tried to get dressed but quickly realized I had asked my father, brother and father-in-law to remove anything baby related from the house – including my maternity clothes.   I did not see a problem with wearing the black t-shirt and sweatpants that I had been wearing for days.   However, my mom stepped in and dressed me in clothes I knew I would never wear again.

We drove to the funeral home.  We met with the rabbi.   We were allowed to see Jake one last time.   Once again I begged him to open his eyes.   He did not.   Evan and I sang to Jake.   We drove to the cemetery behind the hearse.  I knew there were a lot of people around but all I could see was Jake’s tiny casket.   I could not take my eyes off of it.   It took all of my will power not to jump into the ground with the casket.  I swore that if we ever had to bury another child that I wanted to be buried too.   Later I would have to take those words back.

The rabbi performed a short service.   My brother spoke.  He had just come from my grandmother’s funeral so this was the second funeral he spoke at that week.  My brother also read something Evan had written the night before.   I am still in awe that he had the ability to write anything that night.  Below is what he wrote:

We love you Jake.

You are our sunshine.

You are such a courageous and strong fighter, and we are so proud of you.

Jake, you are a miracle, and we thank you for choosing us to be your parents.

You are so wise for someone so young and so small.  You knew when you had to come into this world Jake, and you knew when you had to leave us to be in a better place.

You are and were the perfect son for us.

Jake, please know that we felt all the love you gave to us during your time here.

We are sad that we could only spend such a short time with you, but we are so glad and thankful for every minute of it.

It is amazing how we could come to love you so immediately and so completely even though we were just getting to know each other.

Then again, we feel like we have known you all of our lives, and you will be in our hearts forever and beyond.

We are so grateful to all of you, both here in person and here in spirit, who have offered such kind words and prayers for Jake and for us.

We know Jake heard them all and appreciated each one.

Jake, we also know that you are at peace and that you are being watched over by all of our loved ones who also watch over all of us from above.

Thank you, Jake.

Thank you for coming to us.

Thank you for choosing us.

Thank you for loving us and letting us love you with all of our hearts.

We’ll see you every night playing up with the moon and the stars.

Anniversaries

September 12, 2010 at 4:40 pm | Posted in Death, Grief | 7 Comments

The tragedy of 9/11 and its’ anniversary are kinds of grief.   It is of course, an enormous source of grief for all of the families and friends who lost loved ones.  It is also the kind of grief in which you realize that the world as you knew it will not ever be the same.

Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans the week that Jake passed away.   A very close friend of mine took her 5-year-old son in for his check up and the pediatrician found a rare heart condition.   My grandmother had died.  I felt like the world was coming to an end.   So, I asked the rabbi who presided at Jake’s funeral about the possibility that the world was ending.   He replied with an analogy.   He said that it is like when you decide you are going to buy a certain kind of car.   Once you make the decision you start seeing the car every where.   So, my take away from his explanation was now that I was grieving I would start to see grieving every where. . . Turns out you don’t have to look too far for grief in this world.   The record 7.0-magnitude earthquake hit Haiti shortly after Sawyer died.

I know that 9/11, where close to 3,000 people died; Hurricane Katrina, where 1,500-1,700 people died; and the earthquake in Haiti, where almost 230,000 people died are tremendous losses compared to the death of two babies.   But, those babies were mine.   And, my world will never be the same as it was before they had died.

There is not a contest for who has the most grief.   I am not trying to compare my losses to these catastrophic tragedies.   There are not any winners here.  In grief we have all lost.   However, there is still the next day and the day after that.  And one day, there is a point where we will realize that our loved ones are dead but we are still alive.

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